Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

CC-2224 had had a name once.

Sometimes he still caught the echo of its sound in his dreams. He would wake up at night and there it would be —the faintest whisper of a melody, lingering at the edges of his consciousness.

There were images, too. Of golden paint, the clear blue of early dawn, of rays of sunlight bursting through a blanket of clouds…

He never managed to hold onto more than those fleeting impressions, though. No matter how hard he tried to remember, no matter how sure he was that these images had held meaning to him once, it would always slip right through his fingers.

No, CC-2224’s nights might be filled with dreams of gold and blue and yellow sunlight, but CC-2224’s days were nothing but black and grey and red. Filled with dark colours, harsh lights and an ever present voice reverberating in his head, drowning out whatever it was that his sleeping mind was trying to tell him.

Good soldiers follow orders.

As soon as he opened his eyes it was there —harsh and inescapable— and every time it had repeated its steady mantra over the last years, it had chipped away at the name. Vowel by vowel, consonant by consonant.

Until everything that was left was the voice.

Good soldiers follow orders.

Until everything that was left was a number.

CC-2224

Until everything that was left was inky blackness.

In CC-2224's mind the sun had set a long time ago. The days had become shorter and shorter, the nights had stretched further and further, until, one day, it had set and simply not come up again.

And it had taken his name with it.

Chapter Text

The new stormtroopers that command had presented him with for his next mission were so damn green, CC-2224 felt the inexplicable urge to check if they were still covered in tube juice. Then he spent the next couple of minutes asking himself just what the kriff his brain meant by that.

He forced the musings away. No point in dwelling on stray thoughts, however odd they may be.

The point was, they were young. Much younger than CC-2224, although he couldn’t have told you how old exactly he was. All he knew was that when he looked into the mirror for his perfunctory morning shave, he saw greying temples and furrows etched into his face that went much deeper than the ones on the new trooper’s shiny faces.

Not that it mattered that much. Young they were, and young they’d stay. Or rather, they wouldn’t get much of a chance to grow old. Purge Troopers and those accompanying them tended not to last very long. Something about hunting down laser-sword wielding sorcerers tended to really cut down your life expectancy.

No, they came in from their special training —all eager to face off against the empire's greatest enemies— and most of the time they didn’t last longer than three hunts at best.

CC-2224 always came back, though. He knew how to deal with the wizards. How to dodge their weapon’s arcing swings and anticipate their strangely graceful movements. He wasn’t sure how he knew these things, and despite his best efforts, he never quite managed to stop wondering where the experience had come from that allowed him to hold his own against them. Allowed him to survive regular encounters with beings who didn’t seem beholden to the laws of reality the rest of them were subject to.

Sometimes he thought he remembered something, thought he caught glimpses of an answer in his sleep.

There always tended to be a lot of blue in these particular dreams…

But, again, he tried not to question it too much. Not if the knowledge was what allowed him to successfully carry out his missions.

His special skills didn’t make him any more popular among the rest of the imperial troops. Even if it meant that those assigned to his squads were marginally more likely to make it through more than one mission. The ones that had been picked for their current operation shied away from him almost as much as they did from the Inquisitor.

CC-2224 didn’t mind. Their young, shiny faces would be lost to a glowing blade soon enough.

Yesterday, Central Intelligence had passed on a report of a possible Jedi sighting. Some members of a gang or syndicate or whatever it was they were trying to pass as —operating on the Outer Rim— had been overheard bragging about supposedly having captured one of the cursed creatures.

As often as not, reports like this weren’t worth the storage place they took up on the data pads they were written on. But sometimes they were true. Seldom, sure, but frequently enough to warrant further investigation. And CC-2224’s commanding officer had decided that this one was worth looking into. So they’d requisitioned new troops and issued the order to head out.

CC-2224 shifted in his seat as the transport hit atmo. The trooper in the seat next to him made a poor attempt at hiding the way they tried to lean further away from him. CC-2224 was pretty certain that, from the safety of their helmet, they were giving him a suspicious side-eye.

CC-2224 didn’t care. He had his orders.

That was all a good soldier needed.

—

The planet was, to put it mildly, a shithole. Hot, dusty, ripe with crime, and practically crawling with crooks and bounty hunters.

CC-2224 couldn’t help his feelings of disgust. They weren’t conducive to mission success, but he dared anyone with even a sliver of appreciation for hygiene and proper civic organisation to step foot into a place like this and not break out in hives.

Even Fifteenth Sibling seemed to be more irate than usual. But then again, the Pantoran was a Sith, so the miasma of violence and misery and the pain it engendered, was probably fuelling them as much as it was hurting them.

CC-2224 absently wondered why he knew this. Then he pushed the curiosity away.

„Fan out. Find those idiots.“ The Sith stalked past him down the main street of the grimy settlement their info had guided them to.“I don’t want to spend a second longer than I have to on this fucking dust ball.“

„Yessir.“

CC-2224 turned to his troops. „You heard them. I want standard spread and search protocols enacted. Get moving!“

The troopers saluted and scrambled away. CC-2224 watched them as they went, brows wrinkled in disapproval. It was painfully obvious the soldiers were on edge, but tried to hide their nerves behind posturing and pitiful attempts at intimidating the locals.

CC-2224 did not roll his eyes under his helmet. But he was pretty sure that if they actually ended up running into a Jedi, the shuttle back to base would be significantly more empty.

He didn’t care.

Next to him, Fifteenth Sibling seemed to entertain similar thoughts. He heard them scoffing as they watched the soldiers depart.

„Fucking morons. Can’t say I miss having more of your lot around —same damn face everywhere gave me the creeps— but at least they didn’t bumble through their assignments like a bunch of wasted banthabrains.“

„Yessir.“

They barked a laugh. „You have no karking idea what any of that meant, do you, soldier?“

CC-2224 had worked together with Fifteenth Sibling enough times to know that they did not expect an answer to that question. They were right, in any case. He didn’t.

Another scoff. „Kriffing meatdroid.“

CC-2224 didn’t reply.

On the other side of the street a young Togruta was peeking at them curiously from behind a parked speeder, then scrambled away when their guardian called for them, alarm clear in their voice. 

CC-2224 ignored the way the sight made something in him ache.

The sentiment wasn’t conducive to mission success.

—

Fifteenth Sibling had been right about the people they were looking for being a bunch of idiots.

You’d think that a group that had managed to get their hands on an actual Force user would know better than to advertise the fact to everyone and their grandmother. Even on the Outer Rim, people were well aware that when it came to Force users, the Empire didn’t take any chances.

But apparently not. The Poison Scorpions —what CC-2224 thought of that name was irrelevant in regard to the operation— had apparently decided that, on the contrary, the infamy would help them gain their footing among the Outer Rim’s more established syndicates. Even the sight of a full Inquisitorial party, complete with Sith and Purge Trooper, didn’t seem to make them catch onto the fact that that had been a monumentally stupid risk to take.

To add insult to injury, CC-2224 was pretty sure their leader was currently high. He wasn’t an expert, but he was pretty sure Rodians weren’t supposed to be that colour. The swaying was also somewhat of a clue.

„The hell you want, Imp? You lost or some’ing?“

Yes, definitely high.

Fifteenth Sibling didn’t reply to them immediately, taking their time as they casually leaned their hips against on off the crates staked in the warehouse they’d eventually identified as the group's headquarters. They flashed the Rodian a toothy smile. The way their yellow eyes glinted against the deep blue of their skin would have been enough to set off all available alarm bells in a person with even an ounce of common sense.

So far, the Scorpions hadn’t done anything to make CC-2224 assume they had any.

He gritted his teeth. He would have preferred it if Fifteenth Sibling had just demanded they hand over the Force user outright. It was never a good sign when the Sith started acting like this.

“Well, you see,“ the Pantoran drawled, ignoring the unease they undoubtedly felt from their troopers. „Rumour has it you and your people got yourself a little something at your last run-in with that one Zygerian crew from two sectors over… What was their name again? I always forget, with those fucking slaver gangs. They never come up with anything imaginative.“

Their eyes roved lazily over the assembled gang members and lingered over the somewhat bungled depiction of a Mos Eisley Stinger tattooed on the Rodian’s left bicep. „Case in point.“

The Rodian sneered at them. „Cut the crap, Imp. If it’s the Jedi you want, you can haul your asses right back to the Core. The money your Empire pays for one of ‘em fuckers is a kriffing joke.“

„Uhm, boss—„

„Don’t you fucking “boss” me, Larry. We’ll get at least double the amount on the private market.“

CC-2224 carefully breathed out. These people had just signed their own death certificates.

Fifteenth Sibling’s smile grew that much wider. The Purger Trooper could sense the way their body coiled, growing tension belying the casual way they were still slouched against the crate.

„Yeah, no. I think you got something wrong here. We weren’t planning on paying you shit.“

The Rodian stumbled over to a small table some of his goons had been sitting around playing cards before CC-2224 and his squad had burst in, and snatched up on off the half empty bottles littering the surface. „Hate to break it to you, but that's not how business works, mate.“

A chuckle.

„You’re right. It isn’t.“

The Sith straightened up. When they next spoke, their voice was cold and precise. 

„The Emperor commands that any force user be handed over into imperial custody. Don’t make me ask again.“

CC-2224 adjusted the grip on his blaster. Fifteenth Sibling was done playing.

Finally, some of the group seemed to really catch onto the fact that this was serious. One of them —Larry, apparently— took a couple of steps back. „I don’t know, boss. Maybe this isn’t—“

The Rodian rounded on them. Furious.

„I’m not taking orders from some fucking Imp, Larry! This isn’t the kriffing Core, yeah? Them and their copy-pasted cannon-fodder have no fucking say ‘round here!“

Then they turned back around and threw their bottle at the Inquisitor.

CC-2224 could see one of his troopers flinch, prepared to shield their head against the incoming projectile, when the bottle halted in midair, halfway between the two groups. A second of silence, and then it burst in a shower of glittering shards and spilled alcohol.

Fifteenth Sibling slowly lowered their hand.

„Kill them.“

And CC-2224 followed his orders.

—

He had to hand it to Larry. They were a decent shot. 

They hit one of his squad head on and managed to graze another one in a way that would undoubtedly leave a nasty scar.

They also had more common sense than the rest of the Scorpions, since about two minutes into the fight they decided to turn tail and run. CC-2224 shot them in the back and watched as their lifeless body slumped to the ground.

Good soldiers follow the orders they’re given.

CC-2224 turned away from the sight and did a quick check to assess the situation. The Scorpions weren’t entirely incompetent, it seemed. Despite first impressions, they actually had managed to take down a good few of the troopers. They might have even held their own —Larry hadn’t been the only one who seemed to know their way around a blaster— but, in the end, they didn’t stand a chance against a trained force user.

The Inquisitor was a dark blur between them, their red blades cutting through their ranks with ease.

CC-2224 absently wondered about that while diving for cover as one of the gang members started targeting him. Whoever the force user was that they’d got their hands on, they must have already been in bad shape after having been captured by the Zygerians.

He straightened from the crate he was crouched behind and took a few more shots. Meanwhile, Fifteenth Sibling had already cut down the Rodian leader, slashing them with their sabers when they tried to get to something half hidden behind some rusty containers. Now the rest of the remaining crew were trying to do the same. Interesting. Must be something important.

A moment later, his suspicion was confirmed.

„Get that pod!“ The Inquisitor yelled, before they spun on their heels and tossed a young humanoid into the nearest wall with the Force. CC-2224 could hear the poor sod’s neck snapping even across the distance.

„Sir?“

„That's what we’re after!“

That was enough for him. CC-2224 leapt out from under his cover and made for the pod. He ducked under blaster bolts, flipped one of the gang members that had been stupid enough to get in his way over his shoulder and into the waiting arms of one of his troopers, and shot down another one that tried to stand between him and his target.

Finally, reached the thing and pulled it out of its makeshift hiding spot. It was a rather odd container. Spherical and apparently equipped with some sort of hover technology.

He didn’t get any more time to inspect the thing, though. Because the second he laid hands on it, something went click.

He hadn’t checked for booby traps. Rookie mistake.

CC-2224 barely managed to hold onto the floating thing as the explosion hurled him through the room, desperately hoping that his armour would be able to absorb most of the impact. Fortunately, it did keep him from being torn into pieces. Unfortunately, it didn’t save him from being blown across what felt like half the hall, right through another stack of those damned crates and eventually down some stairs that had been hidden behind them.

When his aching body finally came to a standstill, he’d already tumbled down the entirety of the steps.

CC-2224 groaned in pain, his vision spotty and his ears ringing. All he could tell, was that he’d landed in some sort of basement.

He heaved himself upright, taking deep breaths and willing himself to focus. When his senses were somewhat back under his control, he forced himself to take in his new surroundings.

Dark, dry, dusty.

Through the ceiling he could still faintly hear shouting and the sounds of blaster fire, but down here the noises were muffled.

The silent atmosphere made the next sound to reach his aching ears ring out all the more clearly. Somewhere behind him there was the mechanical click of a mechanism unlocking, followed by a faint swishing noise.

CC-2224 whirled around, prepared to face the new threat—

And was met by the sight of big brown eyes staring at him in fear.

A tiny green face. Giant drooping ears.

A child.

Chapter Text

CC-2224 stared at the being, somehow finding himself paralysed by its gaze. Until a violent stab of pain in his temple forced him back to his knees, clutching at his helmet. The world went blurry again.

A child. The damn thing was a child.

But that didn’t matter, did it. Because CC-2224 had orders.

He breathed through the pain. He was a Purge Trooper, and he had a mission to complete.

CC-2224 forced his eyes upwards once more. And stopped short. By the time he’d managed to find his focus, the thing had crawled out of its pod. It was still looking at him, but this time it had a considering look on its tiny face, small brows scrunched up, as if it was trying to figure something out.

CC-2224 had lost his blaster when he had been tossed about by the explosive. His hand wrapped around one of his vibroblades instead.

Good soldiers follow orders.

There it was. The voice. It never went far, after all. Not in his waking hours, at least. It had taken up its steady singing again, reminding him of his purpose and his mission. But this time there was something else as well. A second voice, quieter, nothing more than a whisper, barely audible over the insistent shouting of the other one.

But it's so small

As if in answer the first voice increased in volume. It felt as if it was trying to… seeking to drown the quieter one out.

Good soldiers follow orders.

And usually that would have been enough, but this time …

This isn’t an order I want to follow

…

It’s a Jedi. Jedi are to be killed on sight.

It’s a child

It’s a traitor. You have executed traitors before. You will do so again. These are your orders.

It can barely walk. It can’t have 

The Jedi are a threat to the order and security of the galaxy.

No, that’s not right. They were…the Jedi always were…

You are under orders to execute the Jedi.

These orders aren’t right

Good soldiers follow orders.

Suddenly, there was the clacking noise of three tiny claws meeting plastoid. CC-2224 reared back. He had been so lost in his head, he hadn’t even noticed the way he’d curled in on himself. Nor had he noticed the child coming nearer, one tiny clawed hand reaching out to him.

CC-2224 could feel his breathing become more rapid. The louder voice urged him to follow orders, grab the Jedi and plunge his vibroblades into its chest. To call it out as the monster it was, and end its existence. But, miraculously, it was the other voice that decided what eventually came out of his mouth. That stayed his blade.

„What are you doing?“ He reached out, not with the hand holding the knife and gently grasped the little wrist between two careful fingers. For a moment, all he could do was stare at his own hand. He had forgotten that being this gentle was something he could do.

Good soldiers follow orders.

It took all he had to keep his grip light. 

„Go. It’s not safe here. I might hurt you.“

Where had that come from? He wasn’t supposed to warn his target. He wasn’t supposed to …He had orders.

CC-2224 didn’t raise his weapon, though. He didn’t grasp the little one’s neck and the words that came out of his mouth were not the ones the Empire had put there.

„Run, little one. I— I’m not— I don’t—“

I don’t want to hurt you, but I’m not sure if I’ll be able to stop myself

The child looked at him with those deep, knowing eyes. They were too knowing for a mortal creature. But CC-2224 thought he’d looked into eyes like these before. They’d been blue. Even so, they’d carried the same light.

You’re so light, little one. Do you know where the sun went? Do you know how to chase away the dark?

And the creature didn’t retreat. Instead, it scrunched up its little face even more, stood on its tiptoes and tried to reach up towards his helmet.

Good soldiers follow orders.

CC-2224’s raised his knife…and let it drop to the floor.

I don’t want to be stuck in the dark anymore

The child simply frowned at him again and reached out its hand once more, and this time, he pulled off his helmet, bend down and let it.

—

The ones that had been hunting him had been all smeared in darkness. Grogu could feel the way it filled their auras. The Sith was strongest. So dark and cold and sour, it hurt Grogu just to sense them as they moved around above his head.

The other ones, the ones who didn’t have the Force, felt much the same, even if they were not powerful enough to leave ugly bruises in his mind.

This one wasn’t the same, though. The one in the grey and black armour.

They were dark too, but somehow the shape of their shadows was different. Their darkness didn’t feel like something that came from the inside and more like something that someone had put on top.

Like clouds that were hiding something beneath. Something that was bright and warm. Something that felt like safety.

Grogu was scared and hurt and alone. Grogu didn’t like the dark. And even through the thick clouds, he could tell that the other one didn’t like the dark any more than he did. 

Grogu took a deep breath. Just like he’d been taught.

Maybe he could make the clouds go away.

—

CC-2224 gasped as three small fingers pressed against his face. Three points of warmth, seeping into his skin, and bit by bit the voice that had tormented him for years grew quieter and in its place the new voice —no, no the old voice, the original one, the one the other had replaced— fought its way to the surface.

And CC-2224 let it. He didn’t push away the child, and he didn’t fight the warmth, he simply let it trickle into his mind and soothe the pain …and it felt familiar…it felt like …

Like streaks of shining colour breaking through deep blackness—

Like rays of golden light pushing back the night—

Like the edges of dawn playing along the horizon—

It felt like new beginnings

It felt like hope

It felt like—

It felt like a sunrise.

Chapter Text

Fuck this mission. Fuck this planet. And fuck whichever deity was responsible for the creation of sand.

Fifteenth Sibling grabbed their cape and twisted a bit to better asses the damage. One of their banthabrained stormtroopers had been tripped up by the guy he’d been fighting and had stepped right onto the fabric. Fifteenth Sibling had plunged their sabers into one chest each, but it was already too late.

Their cape was now sporting one big fat dusty boot-print. Wonderful.

If it had been blood, at least, that would have been a different story. Blood they could deal with. It barely showed on black fabric, and besides, bloodstains had a certain flair.

Dust didn’t.

And it looked like just the kind of fine-grained dirt that was a bitch to get out again.

Just great.

Fifteenth Sibling let the ruined cloth drop again. The fun part of the mission was over and done with anyway, not a single syndicate member was left to play with. Better to just get that damn Jedi and then get the hell out of here.

Now, where the fuck was that karking clone?

They reached out their mind, looking for the customary blank Force presence that was typical for the blasted meatdroits.

Huh. They couldn’t find it. Weird. He didn’t die in that explosion, did he? Now that would be a waste of fine resources.

Fifteenth Sibling allowed themselves a small moment of worry. Seriously, if this clusterfuck of a mission cost them one of their best assets, they might actually get in trouble this time. And they had absolutely no intention of getting on Vader’s bad side.

That karking cyborg always paid special attention to CC-2224 for some fucking reason. They didn’t know why —didn’t care, either— but the Respirator Malfunction in Chief loved tormenting that one in particular.

Shit. They really couldn’t sense him. Instead…what the fuck was that?

There was a new Force presence in the area. A bright one, at that, warm and steady, beaming in a way that kinda made them want to hiss at it and then scramble into the nearest shadowy corner they could find. Disgusting.

The Sith grimaced and tightened their shields, trying to get that awful taste out of their brain. 

There, better. Now…

„Oi, whoever is still alive, get your asses over here!“ They shouted into the room at large. 

Two stormtroopers made their way over to them, stepping over the bodies covering the dirt —and by now also blood— soiled floor.

„Right, keep your eyes open, there’s someone—“

They didn’t get further than that. Without warning, one of the troopers dropped with a sizzling blaster-wound right in the gaps of their armour. 

Fifteenth Sibling dodged, cursing, as another shot whizzed past them, aimed straight at their remaining trooper. The shot connected before they could even think of drawing a saber and deflecting it.

There was no time after the second trooper went down, either. Even before the body hit the ground, Fifteenth Sibling got hit with what felt like a solar flare. The new Force presence was on them, striking fast and precise. They barely avoided getting grappled, succeeded in dodging a swing aimed at their head, only to get caught by a quickly following kick.

Hissing at the pain, they staggered away from their attacker, reaching for their sabers. They were still unbalanced and decidedly wrong-footed. Yet even so they got a grip on the hilts, ready to cut whoever this was in half, as suddenly one of their hands got caught in a weird grip and a flurry of movements and one fraction of a second later they were being swiped at with one of their own kriffing lightsabers.

The Inquisitor leapt back, finally bringing some distance between themselves and the person who seemed so kriffing intent on killing them. And froze.

It was the Purge Trooper.

„What the fuck?“

They didn’t get an answer. Instead, they got another attempt at being skewered. This time, though, they got their guard up in time, their remaining saber humming as it locked with its own twin. For a moment there was nothing but the sound of kyberblades clashing against each other, then something gave and both of them jumped backwards.

Fifteenth Sibling got another moment to study the figure in front of them. It was the clone, there was no doubt about it. The same face —visible since he’d lost his helmet somewhere— the same scar, red tattoo, and armour. 

And yet, this definitely wasn’t the same person. Or rather, this was a person, in a way the clone decidedly had not been before. There was an awareness behind those amber eyes that went beyond the mere calculation required to secure a win on a battlefield.

There were true emotions, too. And they burned. Whoever it was that had woken up from their slumber, they were angry. Ablaze with a rage so incandescent, the Sith could practically feel it scorching their own soul with the full glare of a desert sun. It was as intoxicating as it was painful.

They quashed down the urge to like their lips in favour of narrowing their eyes at the man, assessing. They’d heard of something like this happening before. Sometimes a clone would break out of the control. And the results were never pretty.

„Now, I can guess at what got you so pissed, ’24, but whatever it is you think you’re accomplishing with this little stunt here, I suggest you think again.“

Apparently, that comment wasn’t deemed notable enough to get an answer. They just got hit with another wave of enraged sunburst.

„Seriously, trooper, this is just gonna make things worse for you in the end. You gotta calm down a bit.“ They smirked. „Not that your anger isn’t delicious,“ they added, and this time allowed their tongue to sweep across their lower lip.

Interestingly enough, that display did get a reaction. Though not the one the Sith would have expected. The clone narrowed his eyes at them, took a deep breath in—

And the glare oh his angry presence dimmed into a lighter glow before vanishing completely behind a blank wall of mental shielding. He shifted his feet, adjusted the grip on his stolen saber, raised his arms and came to a stand in a new stance.

Fifteenth Sibling couldn’t help it. They blinked.

What.

„Is that fucking Soresu?“

Once again, they didn’t get an answer. Just a stare from blazing eyes. Determined. Focused. Sharp.

And something clicked.

„Oh.“

A grin spread across the Inquisitor’s face, sharp teeth glinting as cerulean lips pulled back in vicious delight.

„Now this is something!“

They raised their own saber into an opening more suitable for the occasion.

„You know, I never bothered to check your background after they told me your number —I mean, clone’s a clone, who gives a shit— but maybe I should have, huh?“

They lunged at him, and as expected, the clone parried and redirected the impact. Twisting his saber so the attacking blade glided off to one side, forcing the Sith to go with their own momentum and quickly twirl around to block their opponent's own strike.

„Oh fucking Force, you do actually know Soresu. Kriff.“ Fifteenth Sibling was ecstatic. „You're Kenobi’s little pet, aren’t you?“

No answer. But they didn’t need one.

Another lunge. Another redirect.

„Guess that explains why good ol’ Vader is so obsessed with you. That guy has some serious issues when it comes to that Kenobi fella. It’s fucking embarrassing, honestly.“

Swipe. Block. No reply. Just that same focused expression.

Impressive self-control, really. But it had to have a weak point.

„Heard you had him blasted off a cliff.“

There, the smallest of flinches. Fifteenth Sibling swooped in and tried to get past the clone's defence by aiming for his legs. They got a singed forearm for their trouble. Still…

„Tell me. Did he scream when that shot got him? When he hit the water?“

The shields quivered and Fifteenth Sibling pounced. They swiped, missed and overreached.

And their guard was back up a fraction of a second too late.

—

The Inquisitor’s body hit the ground with a thump. And another, softer thump just a moment later.

—

The first saber deactivated and clattered to the ground. It was followed by the second one as it, too, was turned off and slid out of its holder's hand.

There was no one left alive to watch the trooper drop to his knees. To see one of the most feared soldiers in the galaxy kneeling in a sea of bodies, looking down at a black clad, headless corpse with an indescribable expression on his face.

If there had been, they would have witnessed an Imperial Purge Trooper helmetless, scuffed, covered in dirt and scorch marks cursing and screaming his lungs out.

They would have heard the cries eventually peter out into sobs.

And if the person were stupid enough to come closer despite all of this, they might have got a glimpse at the man’s eyes. Something they would have regretted for the rest of their life.

There are depths of pain that are too sheer to escape unscathed. Even as an onlooker.

—

He’d almost lost himself to the pain when he heard a soft cry from the direction of the warehouse’s basement. His attention snapped to it instantly.

The kid.

A second later, he had heaved himself up from the floor and was hastening down the steps and into the musty dark of the lower level. Tears were wiped away as anything else was pushed down, locked away tightly, lest it get in the way of the only thing that mattered right now.

The little one held out its tiny arms when he spotted him coming down the stairs. That alone was almost enough to make him break apart again.

But he didn’t allow himself to. Instead, he wrapped the child in the blanket he found in its pod and carried it up the steps, clasping it firmly against his chest plate, in a hold that was as gentle as it was desperate.

He strode through the warehouse, wrenched open the doors, and without another glance back, Cody stepped out and into the daylight.

Chapter Text

Cody let his head thump against the wall of the shed that he was hiding in.

The child was still sleeping against his chest. The little creature had been barely awake when he’d come back to get it —utterly exhausted from breaking whatever spell had kept Cody under— and had dozed off as soon as Cody had wrapped it in its blanket and taken it into his arms.

He didn’t blame the little guy. Whatever it was the youngling had done to free him from the hold the Empire had had on him, it couldn’t have been easy. Especially for someone so small.

That last thought had Cody snort. Actually, the damn gremlin was probably a good number of years older than him. He thought back to the only other member of its ridiculously long-lived species he’d ever met. The snort turned into a chuckle as he remembered the way the Grandmaster of the Jedi Order used to pull out pictures of his fellow councillors in various stages of toddlerhood, whenever he and his brothers—

The chuckle broke off.

Cody quickly banished the memory before the pain could pull him under again.

Now was not the time. He was already running on nothing but adrenaline and shock. Was barely holding on to sanity with the cusps of his fingers. But as much as he wanted to just break down again, to sob and scream until his voice gave out, he couldn’t let himself.

Because right now he was holding a little Jedi in his arms. A little Jedi who needed his help. A little Jedi who was being hunted by the Empire and who was all alone, because everyone else was gone, and it was Cody’s fault and—

No. Not now, trooper. Get. It. Together.

Once again, Cody pulled himself out of the spiral. Ruthlessly, he pushed everything else down and let his training take over. He couldn’t let the kid get captured. So he needed a plan. If the kid was to survive, he needed a plan.

Cody was good at plans.

So, what are we working with? What have we got? Allies?

Well, he got a knocked out baby Jedi. Not much help there.

Personal Resources?

Not much better. He was injured and teetering at the edge of extreme exhaustion. On top of that, he was pretty sure there was a tracker hidden somewhere on his person. He had a somewhat patchy understanding of the last couple of years and the things he did remember—

All in all, Cody had no illusions that if he decided to take the kid and run, he’d be dead in no time at all and the child would get captured anyway.

As if to prove his point his comm choose this moment to go off.

„CC-PT-2224-04, this is Delta Command 7 come in.“

Cody had to swallow the bile rising in his throat as the dispassionate voice of the Imperial officer rattled off the entire designation they’d slapped on him after the Empire was established. It hadn’t bothered him back then. Right now, it nearly send him into another fit of rage.

Against his chest, the child grumbled, as if sensing his inner turmoil. The comm crackled again.

„PT-CC-2224-04, do you copy?“

Cody took a couple of deep breaths and forced himself to calm down. The things he wanted to say would get both him and the kid killed. So he grit his teeth and prepared himself to play the part of the obedient little imperial drone.

„This is PT-CC-2224-04. I copy.“

Time to bullshit some nat-borns.

Cody allowed himself a grim little smile. At least the wounds the lightsaber left on the Inquisitor would make what he was going to say a lot more believable.

—

The kid had woken up not long after they’d left their temporary hiding spot. It was really unfair, just how cute the green baby gremlin looked when he was all drowsy from nap time. It made it hurt all the more that Cody wouldn’t be able to look after the youngling himself.

He carefully stroked one of the child’s large ears to get its attention. Big brown eyes locked onto his own, curious and trusting.

It hurt, but Cody pushed ahead.

„Listen, kid. The Imperials will be here soon. We need to find you somewhere safe. Or someone.“

As expected, the youngling did not like that thought at all. Tiny claws tightened their hold onto Cody’s hand.

„I’m sorry, little one,“ he continued, hoping the little Jedi could feel that he was being sincere. „I’d love to keep you, believe me, but I can’t. I’m not safe. If you stay with me, you’ll almost certainly be captured again.“

The child frowned at him and then very deliberately looked around their surroundings, somehow managing to communicate perfectly just how sceptical it was about finding any safe people in a place like this.

„Yeah kid, I’m aware,“ Cody answered the unspoken words. „Can’t be helped, though. Any suggestions?“

The kid still didn’t look too happy with the situation, but nevertheless settled into what appeared to be a meditative pose. It very much looked like an attempt to communicate with the Force, so Cody left it at that and kept walking.

He took care to keep his expression impassive and his strides measured, but internally he was getting increasingly worked up again. They were running out of time, but how on earth was he supposed to find someone who wouldn’t just sell the kid to the highest bidder as soon as he turned his back? Who’d not only be willing to look after a lost Jedi youngling, but would also be capable of protecting them against those who wished them harm?

Cody was brought out of his thoughts when the little one tapped at Cody’s armour to catch his attention.

„What is it? “ He asked.

The kid answered by pointing at the entrance to a cantina.

To say that Cody was hesitant about that idea would be an understatement.

„Kid, I’m not sure—“

But the little guy didn’t let themselves be dissuaded and just started to bang against Cody’s armour more insistently. Their tiny green face was set in that achingly familiar certainty he’d seen on his own Je— he'd seen on many Jedi. It was that utterly unique and distinctive conviction that their current seemingly insane course of action was in fact completely reasonable and no, why would anyone ever doubt the Will of the Force, and yes, it was telling them to jump into that nest of weird wriggly creatures, so they’d better get hopping.

Cody couldn’t suppress a fond smile. If he’d had any doubts left that the small creature was indeed a trained force-sensitive, this alone would have been enough to set them to rest.

Guess he was back to following the whim of the Force as interpreted by stubborn Jedi.

Cody carried the child over the street and down the few steps into the dingy establishment. It was about as reputable as he’d expected. Which was to say, he could very clearly make out the silhouette of a probably still warm body haphazardly shoved behind the bar counter. Charming.

It said a lot about Cody’s faith in the Force that he didn’t immediately turn around again. It said even more that he didn’t turn tail even when he saw who the Force was apparently guiding his little charge towards.

Oh, you got to be kidding me.

The kid was pointing at a Mandalorian.

They were sitting in a corner both, sunken deep into the seat, and were very clearly trying —and failing— to stay inconspicuous.

Of all the kriffing sentients to pick.

Everything in Cody revolted against the very idea. Apart from the fact, that the guy was very likely a bounty hunter, just the sight of armour was enough to make his stomach squirm in unease. The shape of the helmet was just too similar to those that had haunted his youth. Looked to much like the monsters responsible for own tortured childhood.

But when he looked down at the little Jedi again, the only thing he was met with was complete confidence. The child’s eyes had taken on that otherworldly depth again, and Cody’s life had been saved so many times by those whose eyes reflected the universe in the same manner that he couldn’t find it in himself to protest.

The kid had freed him, knew to trust him even when he’d still been buried by the weight of the voice screaming orders in his brain, and Cody decided that he was going to trust the little one in return.

In the silence stretching between them the commlink went off again. „PT-CC-2224-04, report in. What’s your status?“

Cody answered the comm and then made his way over to the booth.

—

Din Djarin had just been minding his own business.

When the damn Imps had shown up and the shooting had started, he’d decided straight away that he had better things to do than get caught up in that sort of bullshit.

No, he’d kept his head low, made his way to the nearest cantina and hunkered down. His armour might not have been pure beskar, but stormtroopers were notorious for picking on Mandalorians anyway. Probably eager to show that they were the toughest fighting force around, or some shite like that. As if glassing their entire planet hadn’t been enough. 

And like hell was he going to endanger his position as the newly chosen beroya of the covert by getting carted off to the nearest imperial base for crimes like „tilting his helmet in a way indicating that he was planning to disrupt galactic peace“ or whatever.

Nope. Djarin was staying clear of all of that.

So naturally, one of the imperial bastards just had to find their way into the exact establishment he’d been hiding in.

Just great. 

Djarin willed himself to melt into the background. Not easily done in distinctively Mando armour, but the guy wasn’t paying him any attention yet and maybe—

And nope. The Imp had spotted him. And was staring at him. And now was making straight for him. 

Yep. Just his karking luck.

Djarin straightened up and readied himself for the confrontation that was inevitably going to follow, cataloguing his opponent to prepare for an attack.

The trooper wasn’t wearing a helmet —which was odd, actually, Djarin didn’t think he’d ever seen one of the Empire’s soldiers without one— and their armour wasn’t the usual expressionless white, which probably wasn’t a good sign.

But it was also clear that they came straight out of a fight. There were bruises, scorch marks, blood splatters, their brows were slightly pinched in either pain or exhaustion or both, and they were slightly favouring their right leg.

Okay, he could work with that. 

In the meantime, the Imp had covered the distance between them and was coming to a halt in front of Djarin’s table. Djarin tilted his helmet up at the guy.

Here goes nothing.

„Are you for hire?“ The Imp asked him.

Djarin stopped trying to surreptitiously count the guy’s weapons. That’s… not what he’d expected to hear. He blamed his surprise for the words that came out of his mouth next.

„Not for Imperials.“

Oh for fuck's sake. Really Djarin? That’s what you go with?

Amber eyes stared into his visor as if trying to figure something out. Djarin prepared himself to flip over his table. 

„Good.“ The trooper said, right before Djarin put that idea into practice. „You’ll do.“

Then the Imp tossed him a pile of credits and a bundle of cloth.

„Look after it,“ they said.

And left.

„Wait, wha—?!“ Djarin began, but the soldier had already turned their back and was marching straight back out the door.

Djarin blinked. He blinked again. The credits were still there. As was the weird bundle of rags.

Right then.

Djarin shook himself out of his confusion and was just about to follow the odd trooper and demand some answers, when the bundle in his arms fucking moved.

He looked down. He would never ever—not in a million years and not even under the threat of torture— admit to making the sound he did, in fact, make, when he realised just what it was he’d just been handed.

—

Djarin stormed out of the cantina, one hand awkwardly cradling the weird green gremlin creature and the other one gesticulating angrily, as he stalked over to where he had spotted the Imp’s dark armour.

„What the hell? You can’t just—“

He would forever blame the shock of just having being handed a literal fucking baby for not noticing sooner how his black armoured acquaintance had already been surrounded by a whole gaggle of other stormtroopers.

Who were pouring out of an Imperial troop transporter.

That he’d also overlooked.

If I survive this, the Armourer is going to kill me.

One of said stormtroopers turned to where Djarin was standing, one hand still raised mid aborted rant.

„You got a problem, Mando?“

„Uhm.“

Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit.

The Stormtrooper that had addressed him took a couple of steps in Djarin’s direction. In the background he could see the helmetless one who’d given him the kid tensing.

„Listen here, punk—“

Before they could finish their sentence, though, a different stormtrooper interrupted them.

„Hold on, he’s got a kid.“

Stormtrooper number one paused. Apparently, they’d only now noticed the bundle Djarin was holding.

„What the kriff is that?“

Djarin was just about ready to answer that, actually, he was the one who should be asking that question, when his eyes landed on the black clad Imp again.

The dark trooper had moved to the back of the group, but he was staring at Djarin with an intensity that was probably heavy enough to keep a small moon in orbit.

And then, because this day couldn’t possibly get any weirder, the Imp surreptitiously flashed him what was very clearly Mandalorian battle sign.

*Keep safe*

*Highest priority*

And that, more than anything else, gave Djarin pause. He tore his gaze away from the trooper and looked down at the child in his arms.

It was gazing up at him with very big, very scared, and very pleading eyes. It was only now that Djarin realised that the little thing was trembling.

Fuck it.

Djarin swallowed down what he was going to say, told himself to hell with it all, and tightened his grip around the bundle.

„This is my foundling,“ he said with as much confidence as he could muster.

The stormtrooper made a confused sound. „Your what now?“

The one who’d been talking the first one down answered in Djarin’s stead. They sounded annoyed.

„That’s Mandalorian for that's his kid.“

„It’s green.“

„Not our problem. Come on, I’m fucking done with this place.“

And with that they grabbed their fellow trooper around the arm and dragged them towards the waiting ship.

The trooper in the black armour boarded last, and they did not turn around again.

—

„What the kriff just happened.“

Djarin was still standing in the empty street long after the transport had taken off again.

The child, alas, was not providing any answers. Instead, it simply looked up at him and gave him a toothy grin. Then it began to nibble at his glove.

„Hey, stop that!“

Djarin harshly pulled his hand out between surprisingly sharp teeth.

The thing’s giant ears drooped in disappointment.

„No, I mean—“

Big sad eyes stared into his soul.

„It’s just unhygienic, okay?“ He tried.

He got hit with even bigger sadder eyes.

„Dank ferrik. Alright, alright,“ he caved. „Let’s get you something proper to eat.“

The ears perked back up immediately.

„Patoo?“

Kara, but it really is cute.

Djarin was relieved that his helmet hid his expression as he settled the baby more securely in the crook of his arm.

„Yeah, yeah, sure,“ he answered. „Patoo.“